


#date

by vintagevalentinexx



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 18:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11492445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagevalentinexx/pseuds/vintagevalentinexx
Summary: So Bovaria had asked me to write a Sherlock one-shot, and how could I resist.I hope I’ve done him justice…I’m a little nervous.  I’m used to writing for the elder Holmes.Please let me know what you think!!





	#date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bovaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bovaria/gifts).



> So Bovaria had asked me to write a Sherlock one-shot, and how could I resist.  
> I hope I’ve done him justice…I’m a little nervous. I’m used to writing for the elder Holmes.  
> Please let me know what you think!!

“This is why you need to be supervised.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he dragged your giggling form back into 221B.  John already knew that the both of you were up to no good.  It wasn’t as if he didn’t think you were a good match for Sherlock, you usually kept him out of trouble, and from blowing up the flat, however Sherlock always felt as though he needed to impress you, prove to you that he was worthy of your affection.

“Oh John it wasn’t  _that_  bad.”

His head whipped around to face you, his exasperated expression all that was needed.

“Wasn’t  _that_  bad.  You know (Y/N) I find that hard to believe when the both of you are COVERED IN SOOT AND ASH.”

You looked over at the dark-haired detective, seeing his lips part in a smile as you shared a laugh. You waved goodbye to John as Sherlock ushered you back into his…er…your shared bedroom, still hearing the screams of John behind you.

“YOU BETTER NOT TRAIL ALL OF THIS THROUGH THE FLAT SHERLOCK!  SHERLOCK!  (Y/N)!”

What an exciting night it was.

* * *

_It was about midday when you finally got up the nerve to ask him.  You were sitting on the settee, helping Sherlock answer some of his emails while he played violin.  You had been dating for several months now [“(Y/N)…it is obvious that we have reciprocated feelings toward each other so the only rational thing to do is what they call ‘date’.” “Umm…so you’re not going to ask me properly then?”].  There were moments where you were absolutely captivated by his genius; the way he perceived the world was absolutely inspiring.  However, there were other times where you wanted to call up his mother and have her speak to him about manners and consideration.  You were lost in your thoughts before you realized that Sherlock had stopped playing and was now trying to deduce you.   Your eyes met his.  Raising an eyebrow you closed the laptop, letting out a sigh._

_“Alright.  What is it?”_

_Sherlock found his place next to you, his presence almost too much as he scrutinized your every move._

_“What do you want to ask me?”_

_You huffed at him, crossing your arms.  “I’m not even going to ask how you actually know that I wanted to talk to you.  You know I hate when you try and deduce me.”_

_His eyes narrowed, seemingly not listening to you as you ranted at him, something that was a constant struggle in your relationship.  He stared at you that way for several minutes, much to your growing frustration. He finally seemed to come to some sort of realization, his eyes widening in surprise._

_“No.”_

_“Umm…what?”_

_“No.”_

_You threw your hands up in the air, completely incensed._

_“What the hell are you going on about, Sherlock? To us humans, we need some context!!”_

_“You are not going on a case with me.”_

_Oh._

**_That._ **

_Before you could even protest, he continued._

_“It is far too dangerous and I will not risk your safety.”_

_“But—“_

_“No.  You will not change my mind on this…”_

_Your shoulders slumped, knowing that you were not going to be able to change his mind.  You just wanted a glimpse into his life, just to see a sliver of what he was able to accomplish better than any other human in the world._

_“…However…”_

_You perked up._

_“I will let you come run some errands with me tonight.”_

If you could roll your eyes and further back into your skull you’d be able to see the connective tissue in your brain.

_“Really?  That’s your alternative?”_

_He appraised you again, the look of mischief in his eye that you never liked, that signaled that he was up to something, but you had no idea what it could be._

_“Be ready for seven.”_

_With that he resumed playing, seemingly ignoring you once again._

* * *

_Seven rolled around much faster than you anticipated. Sherlock of course didn’t tell you what kind of clothing would be suitable for tonight so you settled on jeans and a smart blouse.  You knew that you didn’t need to impress him physically; he wasn’t exactly wired that way. [“You know…you don’t have to keep trying to impress me.  I appreciate your form in whatever you desire to wear.  It remains aesthetically pleasing to me.  If you are looking to arouse me I do enjoy your mind the most…” “Can’t you just compliment me normally?”]_

_As you emerged from the bedroom, Sherlock was waiting for you near the door, ready to help you into your coat.  Shrugging it on, you sent him a sour look._

_“So what kind of errands are we going on tonight? Picking up the post?  Going grocery shopping?”_

_He didn’t acknowledge your snark.  “Just some things I haven’t been able to get around to until now.”_

_You found yourself being dragged out of 221B and into a taxi that was waiting on the curb._

* * *

_“Is…this some kind of joke, Sherlock?”_

_The both of you stepped out of the cab, coming face to face with the storefront of a “psychic” who was recently on TV promoting some new book.  You never believed in those sort of people, knowing that they were just in it for the money and to prey on innocent people, something that seemed to personally aggravate Sherlock.  It was one thing to talk someone into buying something when they were of sound mind, but people who went to “psychics” were usually desperate, searching for something to ease their troubled minds._

_His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as he pulled you into the building, whispering to you._

_“Let me do all the talking.”_

_Apparently Sherlock had set up an appointment with this “psychic” to have a “reading” done.  You were of course there for moral support.  You tried not to laugh as he spun a sob story, laying it on thick as he spoke, you were impressed by the tears he was somehow able to produce, something you’d have to ask him about at a different time.  He prattled on about the loss of a loved one, the “renowned psychic” appearing as though she was listening intently.  At a particularly emotional part of his story, you placed your hand on his arm, as if in comfort, to add to the effect.  Sherlock let the psychic ramble on about sensing the presence of someone in the room, letting them go through the entire production before he spoke again, completely tearing the psychic’s logic apart, catching all of her inconsistencies, and explaining to her why she was a fraud.  You could see the psychic begin to get increasingly angry, becoming more flustered as she tried to backpedal and defend herself.  It didn’t take long for her to admit that she was preying on the desperate.  She started shouting loudly, trying to swat at Sherlock, and you knew that this was the cue for the both of you to leave.  Pulling him out the door, you could hear her yelling something along the lines of “too bad no one will ever believe you!”_

_You couldn’t stop laughing as the both of you made it outside, quickly flagging down a cab.  You slumped against him._

_“You know she was right about something.”_

_“And that would be…what?”_

_“That no one is going to believe that she confessed to you.”_

_“And that is where you are wrong, my lovely companion.”_

_Sherlock pulled out his phone, showing you the tweet he was typing, with a voice recording attached, presumably the physic herself admitting that she was a fraud._

_“Now it just needs one more thing…”_

_He pulled you in close, smooshing your faces together, side by side as he quickly snapped a selfie, his face grinning, yours bewildered.  You could see him typing something along the lines of “#consultingdetective #sherlockholmes #datenight.”_

* * *

_You should have known that the night wasn’t over when you pulled up to another location, this one sketchier than the previous spot. You furrowed your brow as you stepped closer to Sherlock, becoming wary as you took in the surroundings.  He wrapped an arm around you as he ushered you toward a door.  He pulled a pouch of out his coat, handing it to you.  You opened it, looking up at him with confusion._

_“Are these…lock picks?_

_“Lock picks and tension wrenches to be precise. Now come, pick the lock.”_

_“Umm…how?”_

_Sherlock pulled an appropriate tension wrench and pick from his pouch.  “Slip the wrench into the bottom of the lock.  Apply pressure.  Use the pick to rake against the tumblers…here.”_

_His hands were on top of yours as you worked together to get the lock open.  Within seconds you felt the satisfying pop of the lock opening.  He swept the both of you inside, promptly closing the door behind him.  He directed you to the ancient-looking fireplace that looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned or swept in at least fifty years.  Sherlock started feeling around at the bricks, trying to pry one loose. His eyes lit up as he finally located the correct brick, pulling it free.  He tried to reach into the gap where the brick was, his hands too large to fit inside.  You knew what he wanted you to do.  You sidled in next to him, reaching in to retrieve a small sachet, handing it off to Sherlock.  You could feel a tickle in your nose, trying to resist the urge to sneeze.  However the odds were against you as you sneezed loudly, soot and ash and dust forming a cloud around the both of you.  By the time you were able to get out of the building, the both of you were covered head to toe in soot._

_No cab would pick the two of you up in your current state.  You stomped your feet in front of him, unbeknownst to you, Sherlock snapped a photo of your retreating form, posting it on twitter, the caption reading: #constultingdetective #sherlockholmes #uptosomemischief #butshesstilllovely #datenight._

* * *

_Figuring that you should call it a night, the both of you stopped off at Angelo’s, getting a quick bite before heading back to 221B for a much needed wash.  Although he didn’t want to admit you to the restaurant in your current state, he felt obligated to considering Sherlock had prevented him from a lifetime of prison. As you sat across from him, he produced the sachet again, pulling out its contents.  You went from frustrated to raving mad in record time._

_“Are you telling me…that we are covered head to toe in soot and ash…because YOU wanted to break into that building…TO GET A BLOODY GIFT CARD FOR THE VERY RESTAURANT WE ARE IN CURRENTLY?”_

_His face betrayed no emotion as he simply slid the card over to you.  You sent him a glare as you picked it up.  It looked innocent enough until you flipped it over.  The card read: Date Night!  x Sherlock._

_“W-what is this?”_

_“You have been exhibiting a desire to spend more time with me, to fully immerse yourself in what it is I do.  Seeing that I could never put you purposefully into harm’s way, for example, by accompanying me on an actual case, I thought the next best alternative would be to simulate it for you.”_

_“You…planted all this stuff…for me…?”_

_He shuffled around uncomfortably.  “Yes well…not everything.  The psychic was something I thought would be a bit of fun.”_

_You laughed, your shoulders shaking from laughter. Here you were, covered in filth, eating in a semi fancy restaurant, after exposing a psychic and breaking into a building.  Sherlock looked amusedly back at you._

_You took the long way back to Baker Street, enjoying each other’s company.  You spent the entire night walking around London, not making it back to the flat until early morning to an irate John Watson._

* * *

John flopped onto his chair, shaking his head.  He couldn’t believe that Sherlock had roped you into his antics as well.  That’s just what he needed.  Two idiots.  He checked his phone, a smile forming on his face as he rolled his eyes.  Sherlock had posted another twitter update, this time a picture of you, freshly washed and tucked into bed, cuddled up into the blankets. The caption read: Successful Date Night. #consultingdetective #sherlockholmes #justgotin #sendallinquiriesviaemail #lazyday #dayoff.

**Two idiots…in love.**


End file.
